Preying Mantis
by janedoe144
Summary: Finishing up, with a little GCR!
1. Default Chapter

Title: Preying Mantis  
  
Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me.  
  
Author: Nuclearjane  
  
Author's Note: The hotel and motel are totally made up, as will be some other stuff. This is my first try at a murder scene.  
  
Summary: Gil and Catherine investigate a murder in a seedy hotel room.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Spoiler(s): Don't know yet.  
  
Jim Brass stood at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor of the Stargazer Motel. He watched the Black Denali pull into the lot. Grissom and Willows exited the vehicle, retrieved their kits from the back and approached him.  
  
"Gil, Catherine, Hey." Brass greeted as they neared.  
  
"Hey, Jim." Catherine returned. Grissom merely acknowledged him with a nod and glance before focusing on the open door above them; crime scene tape was already in place.  
  
"We've got one victim - unidentified, white male, middle-aged, multiple stab wounds to the chest. I didn't go in since I knew you would be arriving soon. Manager found him around midnight. It seems the TV was a bit loud for the folks next door. They said it came on around 10:30. They waited a while, thinking it would be turned off then called in a complaint. The room was rented to a Vanessa Thomas; we're trying to locate her now." He informed as they mounted the steps to the doorway.  
  
Grissom stood in the door, studying the scene. He noted the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the handle. "The TV isn't all that loud. Sure the manager didn't turn it down?" He asked.  
  
"He said he shut the door and high-tailed back to his office to call 911." Brass replied.  
  
Grissom turned to the banister, studying the surrounding area and dryly commented. "Whoever did this is still nearby."  
  
"What makes you think that?" Brass inquired.  
  
"He wasn't supposed to be found, yet. Maybe this afternoon or tomorrow, but not tonight. Time. To put some distance between the killer and victim, maybe." Catherine surmised, after examining the scene herself. A grim little smile and slight nod to the affirmative from Grissom confirmed her assessment. She observed his stance; he was lightly tapping the fingers of his right hand on the railing. "What's he thinking?" She wondered. She followed his lead and studied the surrounding area. Cars were nestled in parking places for the night, dimly lit by a couple of streetlights. Beyond that, darkness, an empty lot, then a five-story hotel from Old Vegas; 'The Magness', stood a block away.  
  
"Jim, it might be worth our while to stop any cars leaving here or there." He indicated The Magness. "Check identification. See if anything shakes loose."  
  
"Ah, The Magness, I hear the owner was once well connected. All sorts of 'honest, church-going' mid-western bankers, lawyers, and doctors, wrote off nights to 'The Ranch' and such on their hotel bill." Brass replied, referring to the brothel located outside the city limits.  
  
"That was 'Old Vegas' and John Marshal died, years ago." Grissom informed. John Marshal had been murdered but he hadn't been able to prove who did it. His two disreputable, under-achieving sons had quickly sold The Magness and lived a hedonistic lifestyle, until the money ran out. He'd investigated each of their murders, to no solid conclusion, as well.  
  
"I'll get back with you when we find out some info on the woman who rented the room." Brass responded and moved off to issue orders to his men.  
  
"Shall we?" Grissom asked Catherine, shaking off the reverie that had occupied him for the past few moments.  
  
"The night's not getting any younger." She replied. "It's almost 2, we'll be lucky to get this scene processed by end of shift." They each snapped on latex gloves. He picked up his kit, and placed his hand at the small of her back as they entered the room.  
  
First, they observed the body. The man lay on the bed, naked; multiple stab wounds covered his torso. His blood soaked the bedding. A large, generic kitchen knife lay on the pillow next to him. It was apparent to both of them that sex was probably involved. Lights off, a search with the ALS offered no sign of fresh body fluids, other than his blood in the bed. Lights back on; the tedious documentation of the scene began. Catherine snapped photographs after placing markers. Grissom searched through the detritus of the room, a day-old newspaper and flyers advertising various Vegas amusements and casinos. A six-pack of Sierra Nevada Summerfest microbrew, in a trashcan with no bag; the ice surrounding it was nearly melted, one bottle was missing. The man's clothing lay beside the bed; it contained no wallet; but, a money clip and a UNLV ID, were in a front pocket.  
  
"Robbery was; apparently, not the motive. Mr. Frank Leland, here, has a couple hundred dollars and a UNLV ID; I'll inform Jim." Grissom stated as he carefully bagged the items.  
  
"Gil, this had to be personal." Catherine said when he returned, as she surveyed the numbered tacks placed by various blood spatters on the wall to identify close-ups of individual drops. He didn't answer. He searched through the drawers, found them empty, then checked out the bathroom.  
  
"Nothing here. A woman checked in; why isn't any of her stuff present? There are no clothes or makeup. The bathroom is clean and appears unused. Looks like some towels are missing, only one towel in there." He pondered as he re-entered the main room.  
  
"No trash bag in that trash can. Perhaps, the killer cleaned up with a couple of towels. Stuffed it all in a trash bag and escaped." He theorized.  
  
"Gil, whoever did this had to be covered in blood." She paused in her photography, joined him at the foot of the bed and noted. "Why aren't there bloody footprints? I mean, there aren't blood drops, anywhere, other than the bed." She gestured to the area between the bed and bathroom to intensify her point.  
  
"Hmmpft, He said." Grissom responded, clearly stumped. Catherine giggled.  
  
"We'll have to see what the evidence tells us. I don't know what else to say." He shrugged.  
  
Riiight!" She smirked.  
  
"Hey, I got your page." Greg said from the door.  
  
"Greg. Good." Grissom greeted. "Finger prints, Greg; there'll be a million of them. Good practice for you. Start at the dresser and work your way toward the bathroom." He instructed as he thought. "Where I can keep a close eye on you."  
  
David arrived, minutes later; they processed the body and he removed it. Grissom, satisfied that Greg was proficient at finger printing, left him to the task and began processing the bathroom. Catherine bagged the bedding and photographed the bare, blood soaked mattress. She finished photographing the blood spatter on the wall and ceiling directly above the bed, then helped Greg.  
  
"Greg?" Grissom inquired as he finished with the bathroom, noting they were nearly finished.  
  
"Yeah." He answered.  
  
"Have you ever gone dumpster diving?" Grissom asked, a tiny smile twitching about his lips.  
  
"Once, when my roommate threw away half of my term paper." Greg replied uneasily.  
  
"Well then, now, you have another opportunity. Dumpster diving is an unsavory, but necessary evil in the life of all Criminalists." He informed with a slight smirk and wink at Catherine.  
  
"Why me?" Greg whined, realizing he was trapped.  
  
"Because, being boss has it's privileges and Catherine is riding with me. Off to the Dumpster, with you, young man!" Grissom gestured toward the door.  
  
A few minutes later....  
  
"I just got these shoes!" Greg grumbled as he prepared to enter the smelly bin of refuse.  
  
"Greggo, in the future, don't wear new shoes to work." Grissom sagely advised.  
  
"What, exactly, am I looking for?" Greg grimaced as he gingerly lowered himself inside.  
  
"Trash bag, containing bloody towels or other stuff, of a similar ilk." He replied.  
  
Catherine quelled a giggle and decided it was a good time to appear occupied, lest Greg require assistance with his efforts. She didn't doubt, for a moment, that Grissom would send her in after their hapless pupil; should he flounder, then remand her to Greg's vehicle for the return trip to the lab. She trained her flashlight on the ground and moved away in ever widening circles in search of anything that might relate to the case.  
  
"There's nothing here, Grissom." Greg stated appearing a bit wilted at the edge of the bin.  
  
"Okay, that's enough. Let's get back to the lab." Grissom responded. The sun was on the horizon as they left.  
  
TBC 


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 2  
  
Author: Nuclearjane  
  
Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.   
  
Summary: Brass and Catherine investigate the murdered man's last hours spent at a Sports bar.Catherine was constructing a diagram of the crime scene, employing a relatively new computer program, when her cell phone rang. It was Brass, who after a perfunctory greeting informed her. "ID on the lady is probably fake. Goes along with the fact that she paid cash and left a deposit behind. Frank Leland was a history professor at UNLV; I've interviewed a couple of his associates. He was going to the 'Grill'em' sports bar last night, care to meet me there?" He asked.  
  
"You bet. I've been there; it's pretty new. Stays open round the clock." She replied.  
  
At the Grill'em sports bar.....  
  
"Dr. Leland was murdered. I can't believe it." One of the bartenders, Marcy Taylor, said upon hearing the news of his demise.   
  
"So you knew him." Brass inquired.  
  
"Oh, yeah. He used to come to 'Final Play' when I worked there. I told him, me and a couple of the other regular bartenders were taking jobs here so he started coming here. We got better hours and pay so, you know, time to move on." She replied.  
  
"Was he interested in a relationship with you?" Catherine asked.   
  
"Nah, he wasn't like that. I think he just wanted to be around some familiar people. There are quite a few other guys that used to go to 'Final Play' that come here too. He got divorced not that long ago. I think he was lonely, didn't know what to do with himself." She responded.  
  
"How did you know to call him doctor?" Brass questioned.  
  
"He was my Prof a couple of years ago for 'Western Rot and Torture', um, sorry, 'Western Thought and Culture'. He was a good teacher, it's just, ah, well, it was a Gen Ed class." She answered with a shrug. "Once in a while, he'd tell me to call him Frank; I guess, I just couldn't get used to it."  
  
"What do you remember from last night?" Brass asked.  
  
"Dr. Leland came in around seven. I got him a Bud, long neck, his usual. Sometime later, maybe an hour or so, I noticed a woman sitting by him. They were chatting; I thought that was good, you know." Marcy recalled.  
  
"Can you describe the woman?" Brass interrupted.  
  
"Brunette, brown eyes, I think, um, kinda medium, trim. She wasn't a knock out but not bad looking. She drank Pyramid Apricot Ale." She answered.  
  
"Do you recall what she was wearing?" Brass inquired.  
  
"Uh, a beige tank top, looked like it was silk; navy skirt, maybe from a suit." She replied.  
  
"How many beers did they have?" Brass asked.  
  
"Him, three, I think. Her, two, that I served." Marcy answered.  
  
"When did they leave?" Brass continued jotting notes.  
  
"Ninish." She shrugged.  
  
"Could you be more exact." Catherine asked.  
  
"I finished a sandwich about ten after nine. They were gone when I came back. I put their bottles in the case – See, this why I'm not really sure. When we finish out a case, we're supposed to take it to the back and bring up an empty. I was working with Dave Rucker last night and he thinks that's beneath him. He's got that whole 'Tom Cruise Cocktail' thing going on, you know. Anyway, those bottles could have sat for nearly a half hour." She explained.  
  
"Let me get this straight, you keep the empty bottles?" Catherine asked.  
  
"Yeah, New Earth Recycle picks them up on Monday and Friday afternoons." She replied.  
  
"May I see them?" Catherine asked with mounting excitement.  
  
"Sure." Marcy answered and led them to a storeroom where cases of empty beer bottles lined one wall.   
  
"Uh, where're you going with this, Cath?" Brass asked.  
  
"DNA, prints. Marcy, did you sell any other Pyramid Apricot Ales last night?" She asked.  
  
"I don't think so. We don't sell that much of it. We keep a couple of cases around because it's a favorite of the owner's wife." She answered.  
  
Catherine obtained permission to take the bottles to the lab. From Marcy, she got a description of the order in which the cases were most probably stacked. She numbered the cases with a red Sharpie before they were loaded so they could be reassembled, in exact order, back at the lab.   
  
TBC 


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 3

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

Grissom located Catherine, standing in front of a formidable stack of cases of beer. He silently crept up behind her as she figured on a notepad then marked black X's on four of the cases.

"Are we having a party? What's the occasion?" He inquired; his face inches from her ear, then smirked as she jumped.

"One of these days, buddy! To the moon." She muttered, regaining her composure.

"So?" He prompted.

"Alas, no party, they're empty. From the 'Grill'em' sports bar where Frank Leland had a couple of beers with a brunette last night. Best I can figure, those four cases are the best place to start looking."

"For?"

"A Budweiser long neck and a Pyramid Apricot Ale. They should be together. The bartender said she put them in the last two spots, more or less, center of an outer row. Hopefully, we'll find prints and DNA from the vic."

"And, from a likely suspect, as well."

"Yep. Oh, and by the way, Brass thinks the ID for Vanessa Thomas is fake." She stated as she wrestled one of the marked cases out of the stack and carried it to the lab bench. Once they had all four cases out, they began a meticulous search.

"Ah, hah!" Catherine exclaimed, holding up two beer bottles. "Lipstick on the rim."

"Backwash." Grissom pointed out the liquid remaining in the bottom of each bottle.

"Damn, I'm Good!" Catherine happily pronounced.

"Yes, you are." Grissom agreed, sharing her excitement.

"I'll take these to Greg and get a rush on the analysis." Grissom said as they carefully swabbed the rim of each bottle. "We'll see what else we have when I get back, okay?"

"Sure." Catherine responded. She transferred the fluid remaining in the bottles to vials; after that, she carefully dusted the exposed glass surfaces of each bottle and lifted a few prints. She was fuming the Bud bottle, hoping to expose prints on the paper label, when he returned.

"Got anything?" He asked, leaning over her shoulder.

"Oh, yeah." She answered. She lifted a partial, then repeated the procedure with the ale bottle, two more partials. Grissom sifted through the various lab reports he'd picked on his return trip.

"I'll take these prints to Jacqui, see what she can do with'em."

Grissom had the bloody sheets laid out on a lab bench by the time she returned. They silently studied the sheets, the computer-generated layout and various photographs of the scene. Catherine picked up the knife. "Did this thing just fly through the air and stab him, repeatedly? Look at the pillow, there should be some transfer from the bloody hand that laid it there."

"Unless, it was dropped or lightly tossed into place. There could've been transfer around the body that was covered as he bled out. We're both assuming a medium height and weight woman was straddling him, naked."

"Well, the spatter indicates a right-handed arc, like this." She mimicked the stabbing motions above the sheet. "She had to be on top of him, probably naked. How else would she distract him enough to pick up a knife and stab him without a fight?"

"What if..." He paused. "She wasn't completely naked? Maybe, had something on?"

"The bartender said she had on a tank top and skirt. His shirt was on the floor by the bed so she didn't put it on."

"Why would she put on his shirt?" Grissom asked, perplexed.

"Oh, I don't know. I've done that on occasion." She shrugged, a blush staining her cheeks.

"Really?" He was decidedly curious but let it drop.

"Brass still hasn't located the ex-wife." She stated to change the subject.

"The description doesn't match her." He responded as he fished out the DMV report.

"Well, we don't have any proof he actually left with the woman from the bar. He could've left to hook up with the ex."

"The description of the bar woman better matches 'Vanessa Thomas'."

"Maybe, she got the room and the ex met them there."

"You're implying two people. What's with the ex?"

"Well, it's usually someone with an axe to grind, often an ex. He was recently divorced; besides, two would make it easier to clean up. Maybe the ex was hiding in the bathroom."

"Okay, let's go back to what the evidence indicates. Say, one woman, and she's astride him. It was premeditated; no one carries around a knife like that just for the heck of it. It would have to be hidden, but where? Under the pillow, maybe? If she had something on and dropped the knife, her feet probably wouldn't have blood on them. So she could've used, whatever she had on, to wipe off most of the blood. Got the towels, cleaned up some more; then, packed up her stuff, turned on the TV and put out the 'Do No Disturb' sign as she left."

"I can buy that; but, why the beer in the trash can?"

"Maybe a cheap, convenient, alternative to an ice chest; there's plenty of ice at a motel. Probably, wouldn't want to chance more than one trip out of the room; someone might see, so she's gotta carry out, everything she brought in. If you figure at least one suitcase and a trash bag containing the evidence; even a small cooler would be encumbering." He replied as his pager buzzed. "Greg has something on the DNA. I'll be right back."

"No ID from the ale bottle, DNA matches an unsolved in LA, from two years ago." He informed as he returned, somewhat disappointed. "How about we pack this stuff up and call it a night?"

"You gotta hot date?" She replied with a smirk.

"Could be." He smirked back.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 4

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff. I have no idea how the FBI works. I just hope my thinking, here, makes decent fiction.

Thursday, 8:30 AM; Quantico, Virginia

Chloe DeCaen was finishing her Café au Lait before starting work. A message flashed on her computer screen, 'DNA match to Mantis profile'. She quickly opened the software and typed in commands. She smiled as she picked up the phone to call her partner, Rob Barton.

"We got an alert. Some yahoo in Vegas matched Mantis DNA in CODIS."

"Hot-A-Mighty!" He exclaimed. "I'll be right there!"

He rushed to her cubicle and stared at the data. "We should call and offer our assistance."

"What if they don't want it?" She asked. "Right now, they've got jurisdiction and no idea what we know. Sometimes, it's better to ask forgiveness than permission. I'm thinking we should just show up. Catch'em off guard; they'll be cooperating before they have time to think about it."

"I see your point. I'll check flights and book us on the first one possible." He responded, remembering the mess in Los Angeles.

"Sounds like a plan." She agreed. "Find out what you can about the Vegas FBI field office. I'll get Martinez to handle our current cases, until we get back." A couple of times a year, she and Rob dropped everything to rush to an already useless crime scene. This was fresh and the most promising, in years.

After briefing Martinez, she composed a brief e-mail to her boss and glanced at her watch. "Good, I've a little time." First, she studied the alert. Sanders had submitted the search; Lead listed on the case was Grissom. "Damn." She thought, that name was familiar. She was aware that Las Vegas Crime Lab was good; second, only to Quantico which had the might and funding of the federal government behind it. She quickly printed out the facts and figures of the lab before keying on Grissom and his staff of graveyard CSIs. She printed dossiers on all of them. She and Rob could study the information on the plane.

She checked her laptop, insuring that all of the Mantis information was up-to-date. She spooled four copies of the Mantis case summary to the color copier, then gathered up the files she thought pertinent. She stuffed all the paperwork in her burgeoning soft-sided leather briefcase and packed her laptop.

"We're booked on a 12:40 flight out of Dulles. I reserved a couple of rooms for a week and a full-sized sedan from AVIS. I left a message with the answering service for the Vegas field office. I'll pick you up at your place in an hour." Rob said from her doorway.

"All right." She answered, handing him her laptop and briefcase to put in his car. They made their flight with five minutes to spare. Once they were comfortably in flight, she dug in her briefcase. She handed Rob the lab printout then began to study the dossier of Gil Grissom.

"Looks like a good lab." Rob commented after a time. She handed him Grissom's dossier.

"What's an entomologist?" He asked after a couple of minutes.

"Studies bugs."

"You can get a PhD in bugs?"

"Rob, think about how many bugs there are." She answered as she rolled her eyes.

"Um, I see your point. Lotsa bugs around, lotsa bugs get on corpses that are left out too long." He replied, remembering one too many encounters with flies and maggots at decomposing bodies. "They disgust me. I bet this guy is five-two, weighs in at ninety pounds, soaking wet; has buckteeth and glasses with coke bottle bottoms for lenses. He probably looks like a chipmunk." After a pause, he asked. "Was that Alvin?"

"No, Simon had the glasses and high IQ. Actually, if I have the right guy in mind, Karen said he was kinda good looking." She responded, bringing up her best friend, who happened to be his latest infatuation.

"Really?" She had his complete attention now. "Where'd she meet him?"

"I don't think she actually met him. She attended a lecture he gave at that conference we went to in Atlanta last fall."

"How come you didn't go?"

"Bugs aren't my thing, either."

"What'd she like about him, exactly?" He inquired when she offered nothing further.

"His ass." She gave him a sidelong glance to see how he digested that information.

"Hmm." He mused. She handed him the dossiers of Catherine Willows and Sara Sidle.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 5

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

Their flight arrived at McCarran a little before three. They divided duty, Rob got their luggage and Chloe checked out the rental car. Not quite an hour later, they were on their way to the hotel. At 4:30, they stood at the doors to their respective rooms.

"How about, you contact the Vegas field office. Tell'em something along the lines of this is just a courtesy call, we don't require any assistance from them; it's mostly lab work. We don't need some hot shot messing things up." She instructed.

"Okay, you gonna contact this Grissom fellow?"

"Nope, I'm gonna call his boss. Robert Cavallo appears to be a first-rate paper pusher and politician. I think I can be pretty vague and get him to lure our bugman in for us."

"God, you're tough." He noted as she disappeared into her room.

"Female serials don't come along often and I've chased her for eight years. Johnson was on the case for at least four before that. I want this bitch." Chloe grimly stated over her shoulder.

Twenty minutes later, she opened the door at his knock. "So?" He asked as she resumed unpacking.

"I'm waiting for a return call. He was on the other line." She answered. A few minutes later, her cell phone jingled its happy little tune. "DeCaen."

"Robert Cavallo, returning your call." The voice at the other end said.

"Yes, um, Good Afternoon, Director Cavallo." Chloe stumbled over what title to use. "We received an alert that your lab has matched a DNA profile to an ongoing serial investigation we are conducting. I was hoping to share information. I'd love to see this one nailed."

"Really? I'm sure we'd be happy to confer. Would you like to set up a conference call for tomorrow?"

"Actually, we're in town. Any chance we could set up a meeting for tonight?"

"Well, um, I'll have to check. Could you give me the case number and lead investigator?" He stammered, flustered. She read the information out to him.

"Grissom works nights; I'll have to track him down."

"It's about five now. How about we meet at six at your lab?"

"Ah, seven would probably be better." He stalled, wanting to get some idea of the case beforehand. "Might take awhile to find Grissom."

"Okay, seven it is."

As soon as the connection was broken, Cavallo dialed Ecklie's extension. "Conrad, I need you to find a case file for me and bring it to my office ASAP."

"I'm not a damn secretary!" Ecklie groused to himself, annoyed by his boss's ineptitude with the LIMS (Laboratory Information Management System). "Grissom, you lucky bastard, why does all this stuff just fall into your lap?"

"I don't see anything here that links this to a serial." Ecklie stated as he went over the data with Cavallo. "Of course, Grissom tends to procrastinate when it comes to paperwork." He added, to draw attention to the fact that he was always prompt in that area.

"Gentlemen, what do we have?" Rory Atwater asked from the door.

"Rory, we were just looking over the case file, such as it is." Cavallo greeted.

"Brass is on his way. When will Grissom arrive?"

"Uh, I need to call him. I wanted to get an idea of the case, first." He explained, then picked up his phone. He dialed Grissom's home phone, to get the answering machine. Then he dialed his cell, only to be routed to voice mail. He repeated the procedure to the same results with the numbers listed for Catherine Willows. "No answer for either of them."

"Maybe he was in the shower or something. Here, I'll try." Atwater offered, hitting the speed dial for Grissom on his cell. He was thinking Grissom probably just didn't want to talk to his boss. Cavallo wasn't on his list of favorite people, either.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 6

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

Gil Grissom stirred from his comfortable repose and slapped the snooze button on his alarm clock. "A few more minutes." He thought as snuggled against the warm body in his bed. The incessant ringing continued. "Phone." He foggily realized and fumbled for the bedside receiver. Thankfully, it stopped before he could locate it. Once again, he attempted to recover his peaceful slumber, but more ringing ensued. He slapped the snooze button and grabbed the receiver; the dial tone buzzed in his ear. "Cell phone." Crossed his sleep-numbed mind, so he leaned out over the bed to search for his trousers. It stopped; he gave up the search and flopped back into the bed. His companion rolled over and wrapped an arm about his waist.

"I could grow accustomed to this." He considered as he drifted back to sleep. Another set of incessant tones began from further away, "Cath's cell phone." He realized. This time he stumbled from the bed and searched for her phone. Another unsuccessful venture, he crawled back into bed.

"What is it?" She mumbled as he cuddled close.

"Probably, nothing. If it's really important, they'll call back." He replied, as his cell phone once again began a discordant alarm.

"Christ!" He exclaimed as he located his pants, flipped open his phone and answered with a guttural. "Grissom."

"Gil, Atwater. We need you here at the lab, ASAP." He heard from the other end.

"Why? What's going on?"

"Were you asleep? FBI is here, concerning the Stargazer Motel case."

"Yes, I was. What do they want?" He asked as the last vestiges of sleep escaped him.

"The DNA you found matches a serial they've been working. Just get here." Atwater replied then added. "And locate Willows."

"Okay." He numbly acquiesced. Catherine sat up, hair in disarray around her shoulders. "FBI has shown up. They want to talk to us about the Stargazer Motel case. You shower, I'll get some coffee on." He told her. She didn't reply, just stumbled off to the shower. He started coffee, placed her bag at the bathroom door, picked their clothes up from the floor, deposited his in the hamper, neatly folded hers and placed them by her bag. Coffee was done, so he poured himself a cup, made the bed and laid out some clothes. He had a steaming cup sitting on the vanity when she exited the shower.

"FBI, huh." She mumbled as they exchanged places.

"Yeah." He answered as he turned on the water. She was drying her hair in the bedroom when he finished so he shaved his neck and brushed his teeth. She was dressed. Being a good team, they once again exchanged places; he dressed in the bedroom, and she applied her makeup in the bathroom.

"I'm off." He announced, poking his head in the bathroom.

"Okay, I'll be five or ten minutes behind you." He gave her a quick kiss and left.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 7

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

The FBI arrived early, closer to six-thirty than seven. After introductions were made, Chloe DeCaen suggested she be allowed to set up her laptop in a conference room. All was proceeding according to her plan to keep'em off balance. Ecklie helped her connect her laptop to an overhead projector.

"Grissom just arrived. Willows will be here in a few minutes." Cavallo said as he and Atwater joined Ecklie at the table.

"Great!" Chloe enthused, eyeing the door.

"Grissom went to his office. He'll be back in a few minutes with Detective Brass."

"Come to conference room 2." She identified the speaker as Grissom, from the photo ID that accompanied his dossier, although he now sported a beard. He had a laptop and files haphazardly tucked under his other arm. His hair was still damp. She assumed the man with him was Detective Brass.

"Doesn't look like Simon to me." Chloe muttered to Barton with a chuckle, only to receive a glare in return.

"Dr. Grissom, I've heard a lot about you. I'm Chloe DeCaen and this is Rob Barton." She offered her hand, which he shook perfunctorily, then Rob's. He said nothing further, but quickly busied himself setting up the laptop and arranging files.

"And you must be Detective Brass."

"Jim." He replied as he shook hands with her, then Rob.

"Umm, I only have four copies of the Mantis case history summary." Chloe stated.

"Cath and I can share." Grissom responded glancing at the number of people filling the room.

"I can look over Jim's shoulder, if that's all right?" Atwater raised a questioning brow toward the detective.

"No problem." Brass replied. He could understand Cavallo attending, but Ecklie?

"Hey! Did I miss anything?" A cheery blonde sped into the room to take a seat by Grissom.

"Ah, no. Catherine Willows meet Chloe DeCaen and Rob Barton." Grissom introduced as he continued quickly flipping through the case summary.

"Here." Grissom handed the summary to Catherine then added. "We should have coffee arriving, momentarily." Chloe inferred he wished to wait until it's arrival to begin.

"Mantis?" He asked, peering over the rim of his glasses.

"Yeah. The guys started calling this case 'the Black Widow'. Ed Johnson, my predecessor, insisted that if they must give the suspect a moniker, it should be 'Preying Mantis' since female Preying Mantis's more often kill and devour their mates than do Black Widow spiders. It stuck."

"Uh, huh." Grissom responded.

"Has she, ah, cannibalized anyone?" Brass warily asked. A spiky haired young man entered bearing a tray with a coffee carafe and Styrofoam cups.

"Thankfully, no."

"This is Greg Sanders. He helped collect the evidence." Grissom began.

"And submitted the CODIS request. I'm Chloe DeCaen and this is Rob Barton." Chloe interjected, introducing herself and her partner. Greg beamed as he shook hands with them.

"Okay, shall we begin?" Chloe asked, glancing around the table; eye contact and nods indicated that everyone was ready.

"The Mantis case officially began about twelve years ago, although we suspect she was probably killing before that. The MO is the same. White male with multiple stab wounds, found in a cheap motel with little or no physical evidence. The description of her has been of a dark headed, brown-eyed woman of medium height and build. The age of the victim has increased over time, as has her description. Our profilers believe she is repeatedly killing a man from her past, possibly a former lover. The victim has almost unerringly been a professional male, with an advanced degree. All of the men had blue eyes with blonde or light brown hair. All were approximately six feet in height, with a somewhat athletic build." Annoyed that Grissom appeared more interested in his laptop than her presentation, she decided to try rattling his cage. "You could be her most recent poster boy, Dr. Grissom." Chloe watched him carefully.

"I prefer blondes, unless the brunette is really stimulating... intellectually, of course." He absently responded, eliciting a chuckle from the rest of the room.

"Okay, so he IS listening, but what's he doing?" She thought. She decided to continue with what they probably didn't know.

"The victim is slipped a mixture of two drugs, probably in a drink. One is similar to various date rape drugs but doesn't induce as much lethargy or memory loss since the one man who escaped her remembered the details of their encounter. It makes them uninhibited and quite susceptible to suggestion. The other drug is an endorphin stimulant. The guy who got away said it was the best orgasm he ever had."

"So, in the afterglow, she picks up a kitchen knife and stabs him to death." Catherine surmised.

"Yes, after they have sex a second time, within an hour of the first."

"Whoa, middle-aged guy who gets it up twice in an hour. Where can I get some of that stuff?" Brass joked.

"She seems to be the only source..."

"And they all end up dead."

"You got it."

"I'll pass."

"Tell us about the victim who got away." Grissom requested. He turned his laptop to Catherine for her to peruse what he had been studying then sat back to provide his full attention. Chloe caught Rob's gaze then cut her eyes at the laptop. He casually strolled to the end of the table; he would stealthily make his way behind them to find out what was on the laptop.

"Terrance Franklin was 43, at the time of his attack. He had been in Special Forces in the military before returning to school to obtain a PhD in Anthropology. His reactions were still quick; however, she managed to stab him twice. He threw her across the room and escaped. A bleeding, naked man draws attention quickly; but, she had the presence of mind to gather most of the stuff she had there and flee. We got her DNA from him. I'm hoping we might be able to match something to the evidence you have collected."

"Did he indicate whether she wore any clothing? Uh, while they were sexually involved."

"I think, maybe so, I'll have to look it up. I have a transcript of his statement on my laptop."

"Please continue."

"At the scene, some of the motel bath towels are missing. Twice, she took the sheets. There is usually some tourist stuff, pamphlets and brochures of area attractions; she tends to strike in touristy areas. Also, there is always a six-pack of a local microbrewery beer with one bottle missing. Why only one, or the significance of it, we don't really know." Chloe answered as she flipped slides to a map of the United States; red circles were scattered across it, highlighting the locations in which murders had occurred. Black flags denoting the victim's name and the date arose from the center of the circles.

"With the exception of Seattle and Chicago, most of those locations are toward the South. Maybe, she likes a cool one, after all that vigorous activity. You know, wind down a little." Brass suggested after a brief study of the map.

"That has been suggested, the beer in the Terry Franklin case was untouched."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 8

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

Spoilers: I'm not sure of the episode, but in one of the season 4 episodes, Grissom was working at his desk on a laptop that was not connected to anything. I decided to assume they went wireless after the lab explosion in Play with Fire. Also, he alluded to attending a conference in order to ride a particular roller coaster in Turning of the Screws.

"Well, I'm not sure we have anything additional to offer." Grissom stated, when the FBI presentation concluded.

"We would like to go over the evidence you've gathered." Chloe countered.

"Very well." Grissom acquiesced, then addressed Cavallo, Ecklie and Atwater. "Gentlemen, I suspect, we've reached a dead end, at least, for us. I'm sure you would like to call it a night."

"Cath, would you and Greg log out the evidence." Grissom requested, after they had departed. Chloe and Rob quickly gathered their material follow him through the corridors.

"What were they looking at?" She whispered.

"Your profile." Rob answered then lengthened his stride to close the gap between them and Grissom, cocking his head to one side in study. Chloe rushed to catch up to him.

"What're you doing now?" She exasperatedly asked.

"Trying to check out his ass." Rob indignantly replied. "Geez, he's got it covered with that shirt. How'd she ever see it?"

"The A/C wasn't working quite right. I believe he took off his suit jacket."

"You were there."

"No, I wasn't. Karen just told me about how hot it was in there; he took off his jacket, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. She thought it was very sexy. I figured she was on the verge of a heat stroke or something."

"Rob, that's the break room, perhaps you'd like some more coffee?" Grissom pirouetted to point out, as they caught up to him. Rob glanced at Chloe, and at her nod, headed into the break room.

"My office, Ms. DeCaen. Please sit." Grissom beckoned her to a chair opposite his desk.

"I'm curious, Ms. DeCaen, how you managed to get here so quickly?" Grissom asked after she settled across from him.

"We were scheduled here on another case. This takes priority."

"I don't like false pretense and I'm feeling a little pushed, right now. I don't like it. The truth, please?" He tossed his glasses on the desk, and gazed at her over steepled fingers.

They reminded her of a game she played as a child, 'Here's the church, here's the steeple.' Then an exclamation of 'And, here's all the people!' turn your hands over, and spread your palms to reveal wiggling fingers. She doubted he would find it as humorous as she did. 'Okay, strike one for arrogant presumption, on your part. Get on this man's good side.' She chided herself then with a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, for that. I am pushing, it's just, we've been after Mantis for a long time. I was hoping to avoid a big hassle over jurisdiction. This is the first really good scene since LA where we got into a messy jurisdiction battle. It was frustrating. We might have caught her then, if we could've started quickly enough. Look, I don't care who gets the glory; I just want to catch her."

"I worked in L.A., as a Coroner. We don't have quite the ponderous bureaucracy, case overload, or the need for niche protection." Grissom clearly remembered being cajoled then bullied; by Administrators, hoping to avoid scandal or keep their respective fiefdom intact; and detectives, hoping to advance in the ranks. Chloe wanted to squirm under his penetrative gaze but quelled the urge, determined not to show outward weakness.

"You left out mistrust of the FBI."

"I'm not particularly enamored with the FBI, myself. Truce?"

"I'd like that."

"Okay, we'll collect your partner and take a look at the evidence."

"So, a friend of ours attended your lecture in Atlanta last fall, did you enjoy your stay?" Rob inquired, catching a sharp elbow in the ribs from Chloe.

"Atlanta?" Grissom paused to remember. "That was a quick trip, I flew in on Sunday, lectured late Monday morning and flew back that afternoon." He briefly considered adding that it was quite an enjoyable trip but that might encourage further questions. Only a lonely old roller coaster mechanic would appreciate the real reason he went - to ride the Superman Ultimate Flight roller coaster, which was fairly new, at Six Flags Over Georgia. Then, he indulged in another ride on the Great American Scream Machine and the Cyclone. Of course, the original Cyclone on Coney Island was still the best....

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 9

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

"So, where are we?" Grissom asked, announcing his return from handing out assignments to the rest of the team.

"You wanted to know if Mantis had anything on, I have the transcript of Terry Franklin's statement here. He said she went to the bathroom to get a condom and came back dressed in a short satin robe. Under it, she had on a strapless bra and matching panties. He said he removed the bra and panties but he didn't say whether or not she kept on the robe. I suppose we all assumed it was removed." Chloe answered.

"I think she kept it on. Maybe used it to keep from getting covered with blood or to clean up with afterward." Grissom replied.

"I hadn't considered that. One other thing of note from his statement, he said she was shaved."

"As in no pubic hair?"

"Correct."

"Well, that's not unusual for Vegas and I suspect it's not in L.A., either. However, it would eliminate one possible mode of evidence for us." Catherine stated, then added. "You know, I've been wondering; where is his car?"

"And, the man with the answer, is me." Brass proclaimed, entering the lab. "Silver Honda Accord, it's in the Stargazer parking lot. I figured you'll want to check it out then it can be towed in. More importantly, the vehicle she listed, when she checked in, doesn't exist. The plate number traces to a blue Ford LTD in Hawthorne; she listed make and model as a white Chevy Impala. I've requested a listing of white Chevy Impala plates for the state, thinking she might have listed a number or letter, one off her own plate."

"We've tried a similar angle before and got nothing." Rob interjected.

"Chloe, do you have GC/MS spectra of the compounds she spiked the drinks with?" Grissom inquired.

"Yes." She answered, hunting through her briefcase to retrieve the data.

"Good, I'd like Greg to do a comparison with the backwash from the beer bottles."

"The spectra is from blood. It may have metabolized."

"Greg?"

"I'm all over it, boss. If I can't figure it out, I know people who can." Greg enthusiastically answered, collecting the vials and comparison spectra.

"You have a spray paint can logged in as evidence. I don't think I've ever seen that one before." Chloe noticed as she continued to peruse the evidence summary.

"I collected that. I thought I caught a whiff of fresh paint. What caught my interest was, the can was sitting by a concrete wall on the empty lot between the Stargazer and the Magness. There was fresh graffiti and the tag line didn't appear finished. I thought maybe the 'artist' was interrupted and set it there, planning to finish later. Could be a potential witness. I logged the prints I lifted with the rest of them from the room." Catherine spoke, then whispered to Grissom. "You were busy torturing Greg in the Dumpster."

"I was instructing." He corrected with a slight smile and a wink. "I'm glad you were doing something useful....besides avoiding Dumpster duty."

"I've done my share of Dumpsters, Mister!" In a more audible tone, she added. "I'll check with Jacqui about those prints."

The prints matched to one Michael Redding, 17 years of age; a frequent runaway with a list of charges that escalated to selling 'Chips', cigarettes laced with PCP, at a Rave in the desert over a year ago. His mother was listed as Columbine Redding of Moapa located approximately fifty miles northeast of Las Vegas.

"I'll go see the juvenile detail, find out where this kid is likely to hang out and pick him up for questioning." Brass took the printout and left.

"I'd like to view the crime scene." Chloe requested.

"Well, we need to check his car and I'd like to poke around the Magness a bit." Grissom replied.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 10

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

"Gil, does any of this remind you of something?" Catherine asked after settling in the passenger seat of his Denali and they were alone.

"Like what?"

"Like...the first time, we got together."

"Hmm, let's see, we met at a sports bar, had a couple of beers, played pool, then had breakfast and each other at my place." He summarized; his attempted humor fell flat.

"Gil, we met at the Grill'em sports bar! You were sitting next to a brunette when I got there. I remember because she stared daggers at me. I took a swig of your beer, you ordered two more then went to the bathroom."

"It was more like a gulp and I ordered more because it was obvious you weren't gonna stop 'til you chugged the rest of mine!"

"I was thirsty, Okay? So, we played pool, but...after a few minutes, all I could think about was sex. How 'bout you?"

"You know what I was thinking about. You had on that sort of see-through white linen top with the lace up front, which you don't exactly lace up. Every time you bent over the pool table to make a shot, I had a very clear view of your breasts. As I recall they were invitingly displayed in a white Jacquard print Demi Bra."

"Took you long enough to notice!" She dryly commented, tucking away that little nugget. She would definitely be wearing that top again, and soon. "So then, we got to your place and ate half a plain omelet. Gil, you never make plain omelet's!"

"Sure, I do, just not for you and I did notice. I just didn't say anything. In fact, you've done that sort of thing to me for years."

"Well, the next thing I remember, we were all over each other on your sofa."

"Until we fell off."

"Riiight. Gil, haven't you wondered; why, after all these years, we suddenly jumped all over each other, like horny teenagers?"

"I don't think I was ever that horny, even when I was a teenager." He muttered.

"What?"

"Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, even the biggest loser gets it right, sometimes. Look, I've waited for, practically forever, for you to give me a, ah, a sign. I guess; I figured you finally gave it to me. The other old adage that presently springs to mind is, 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.'" He honestly couldn't remember how they ended up in bed, together. The sex was great but the details were a little blurry. He did remember cleaning up the mess of broken plates and scattered omelet remnants; later that day, which must have resulted from their unceremonious fall to the hard wood floor.

"Really? What exactly, was 'the sign'?"

"I don't recall."

"Well, there you go. I think, that was her, and she put something in your beer. After, we both drank it; we did, what we've both wanted to do all along."

"Cath, that's crazy! Every one of her murders occurred at night. We were there at nine in the morning; plus, you're implying that she's been hanging around Vegas for two months to find another victim. It surely wouldn't take her that long to find a suitable victim!" He exclaimed as he pulled into the Stargazer Motel. Catherine was staring straight ahead, arms folded over her chest. Realizing she was upset, he gently asked. "Well, even if it was her, and she spiked my beer, do you regret it?"

"No, it's just...what if, I hadn't shown up. You might be dead."

"That wouldn't have happened because I wouldn't have been there in the first place. It was your idea to go there, remember?"

"But, what if...I'd been detained?"

"Then, you would've called me and I would've gallantly rushed to your side. My dear, you're worrying over nothing."

"I'm not so sure."

"Cath..." He began as the FBI sedan pulled in next to them. "Take Rob to The Magness and see if they have surveillance tapes, Okay?"

"Yeah, alright." Catherine huffed.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 11

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

Grissom and Chloe picked their way across the back of the empty lot between the Stargazer and the Magness. He had searched the car, photographed it, in situ; then called for a tow truck. A more thorough investigation would be conducted at the lab. Chloe examined the room while they were waiting. Grissom played his flashlight along the crumbling, head high wall then made his way around the one corner still standing. Chloe studied the graffiti Catherine had photographed then perused the other graffiti adjoining it.

"Looks like these were done by different people." She said. She looked around when she received no reply. Grissom had disappeared.

"Dr. Grissom?" She called as she gingerly stepped among the debris.

"I've gotta pretty good view of the lot and the back of the Magness from right here." Grissom spoke. Chloe twirled around because it sounded as if he were directly behind her. She stumbled and fell unceremoniously on her rump.

"Sorry. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, you startled me." She aimed her flashlight at where she thought his voice emanated. One bright blue eye and part of his face was visible through a hole in the wall. She stood up, dusted off and peered at the hole.

"You wouldn't know any one was there." She jumped again as he materialized beside her.

"Do you always walk that quietly?"

"It's the sand."

Chloe studied the hole for a moment then realized he had departed as silently as he approached. 'Sand, My Ass!' She thought, then located his silhouette in a pool of light near the Dumpster at the back of the Magness. She limped after him.

"What?" She asked. He was standing, head cocked to one side, lightly tapping his index finger against his thumb.

"I think, we should've checked over here, Wednesday morning. Dumpster's recently been emptied." He pensively replied. "Shall we see if Catherine and Rob came up with anything?"

"Sure."

"You sure you're okay?" He inquired, noticing her limp as they made their way to the lobby.

"Yeah, I think I twisted my ankle, a little."

"I'm sorry."

"It's nothing."

Grissom politely held the door for her and one of the clerks at the counter pointed at a door when he presented his identification. They joined Catherine, Rob and the Magness night manager, John, according to the nameplate attached to his blazer. They were concentrating on grainy black and white footage of the parking lot, which included the Dumpster.

"There she is." Rob pointed out. A woman retrieved a duffle and a trash bag from behind the Dumpster and placed them in the trunk of a sedan.

"Looks like a GM. Can't make'em out but they're definitely not Nevada plates." Catherine mumbled, squinting at the screen. "Archie can probably enhance it enough to get the numbers. Mr. Taylor, we'll need these tapes, as well."

"Sure. Whatever we can do to help."

"Are there more tapes?" Grissom inquired.

"Yeah, they have tapes of the front counter." Catherine answered.

"We keep'em for a week, then tape over them." Taylor helpfully interjected.

"And the guest registration?" Grissom asked.

"Well....I suppose."

"We'll keep this as quiet as possible." Catherine soothed.

Back at the lab...

"I take it, our FBI guests, called it a night." Grissom asked over Catherine's shoulder.

"Yeah, one yawn after another, they left 'bout an hour ago. Archie got a decent close-up of the plate and we figured out the make and model. It's a Buick, LeSabre with Arizona tags. I've sent a request; but we won't hear anything until tomorrow. Here's the good part, watch the bags."

"I've cleaned it up all I can." Archie said, as he started to play the loop, he and Catherine had been looking at for the last half-hour. About 20 seconds into the video, a brunette came into view carrying a duffle bag and a trash bag, she paused behind the car parked next to the Dumpster. It wasn't clear, but it appeared she searched her pockets, then glanced around the lot. Satisfied no one was around; she stowed the bags behind the Dumpster and disappeared from view around the back of the building.

"I think she forgot her car keys and went up to the room to get them." Catherine noted. "Now, watch this." Practically, on cue with her words, the duffle bag was moved into the light. Two hands unzipped it and quickly searched. A couple of items were removed; the bag was zipped closed and disappeared from view back around the Dumpster.

"You think that was our graffiti artist?" Grissom asked. Seconds later, the woman returned and placed the bags in the trunk of the car.

"Yep. Looks like it was about 10:45 PM. I'm gonna call the Magness night manager and get the rest of the surveillance tapes from around that time frame. Maybe, we can get a clear shot of our young man, to place him at the scene. Has Brass found him?"

"Haven't heard from him."

"Well, I'll get the rest of the tapes and we'll look over them. Then, we'll see if we can find our perp on the front desk tapes."

"Good, keep me informed. I'll be doing paperwork."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 12

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

Chloe and Rob joined Warrick Brown to watch Michael Redding fidget through the two-way glass when Grissom arrived. A couple of uniformed patrol officers picked him nearly an hour earlier behind the Luxor. Grissom quickly briefed Warrick on the case and handed him a file.

"Hey, Brass. Don't empty my lighter, this time." A voice trailed Jim Brass into the room.

"Yeah, whatever." Brass muttered. He had a manila envelope, a soft pack of Camels and a Zippo lighter. He practiced flipping the Zippo open a few times until he was satisfied he could do the trick on command then emptied the contents of the envelope on the table. He set a pack of Kools and a purple Bic lighter to one side then put the remaining items back in the envelope. The Camels went in his jacket and the Zippo in his right front pants pocket.

"I think I'm ready." He announced.

"For what?" Chloe asked, perplexed by his theatrics.

"About all a gutter punk with dread locks and white, middle-aged cop have in common are cigarettes and smoking. Rick, come in after I give him the spiel about co-operating and doing what's right, Okay?"

"You got it."

"Hey, Michael." Brass greeted as he entered the interrogation room. He set the pack of Kools, the Bic lighter and an ashtray on the table in front of Michael Redding. At Michael's questioning look, Brass said. "This is just to show, you're not under arrest. I figured you might like a smoke. If this was an interrogation, I wouldn't give you your smokes."

"What do you want?" Michael Redding asked as he nodded, fiddling with the pack of Kools and the lighter.

"A little help." Brass stated. He made a show of searching through his jacket to locate the pack of Camels. He shook one out with the long practiced ease of a life-long smoker and caught it between his lips. He retrieved the Zippo and lit it. "Man, I love that first drag. Got that butane kick to it, nothing better. How 'bout you?" The boy eyed him for a moment, then opened the pack of Kools and put one between his lips. Brass performed his little trick with the Zippo and lit it.

"Hey! Man, That's cool. You're right, it tastes better this way." Michael said, in appreciation after he sucked in the smoke laced with butane fumes.

"Bingo." Warrick chortled, Grissom merely smiled. Brass placed his cigarette in the ashtray; tendrils of smoke wafted into the air as it slowly burned down to the filter. Brass taught Michael how to do the lighter trick.

"You can call me, Mike."

"Okay, Mike. I have a serious problem. A man was murdered Tuesday night, and I think you might be able to help us identify his killer." Brass softly began; he watched the young man resume a defensive posture, arms folded across his chest. "Mike, even if you did something sorta wrong, at the time. I assure you, we won't press charges. I hope you'll co-operate with us, do what's right."

"That's my cue." Warrick stated, but he waited a moment longer to watch Michael make eye contact with Brass, weighing his words and intention. Warrick knocked gently on the door before entering.

"You must be Michael, I'm Warrick Brown, I'm a Criminalist with the LVPD."

"So?"

"I study stuff left behind at crime scenes and try to figure out what happened. Then, I use my scientific knowledge to prove who did it. Sometimes, other people, witnesses, leave stuff too. Such as, a spray paint can with fingerprints on it." Warrick showed him the picture of the can. "Look familiar?" The boy glanced at the photograph but did not respond.

"There are a lot of ways to see what happened. A lot of places have surveillance cameras that record what happens, inside and outside. Are these your hands?" He asked, placing photos of the hands searching the duffle bag in front of Michael.

"They could be anyone's hands."

"Yeah. But, not just anybody, walked across the front of the Magness, ten minutes later." Warrick placed the third photo, a grainy black and white shot of Michael passing in front of the Magness on the sidewalk, in front of him.

"Mike, even if you didn't take it, you probably saw who did. A man was murdered, violently. Will you help us?" Brass pled.

"There was a billfold and a little leather credit card holder. It had about thirty dollars in it, the billfold was empty." Michael replied after studying his hands for a minute. "I ain't been in trouble in over a year, but it was too easy."

"What did you do with it?" Warrick inquired.

"It's hidden, in a drain pipe behind the Luxor. I was supposed to meet somebody who would give me a hundred, in cash, if the credit cards were good."

"How about, we go get it? Then we'll call your Mother to come get you."

"I don't get along with my Mom so good. I live with my Uncle Sebastian, here in Vegas; he's a sculptor. Man, he's gonna be pissed."

"Okay, we'll take you to him. I'll smooth things over." Warrick placated.

"Good job, Jim." Grissom acknowledged, as they met outside the interrogation room.

"Yeah, but I'll crave a cigarette for at least a week." Brass grumped.

"The sacrifices we make." Grissom responded with a small smile.

"Christ, I could go back to smokin' two packs a day just like that!" Brass snapped his fingers.

"But, you won't."

"Nope. I better give Carter back his smokes before temptation gets the better of me." Brass replied, he squared his shoulders and headed down the hall.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 13

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff. I'm too lazy to do more reading about brain chemistry so I dumped Greg's research. (He's back to comic relief! I have no idea whether Clairol Uncolor works or not. It's a real product and claims to restore your natural color. If any one has tried it, I'd love to know….)

Gil Grissom felt he needed to catch up and the best way to do that was hold a meeting. The team for the Leland Murder case had grown, with each member chasing a lead. He sent a page through Outlook informing them of a meeting and Chinese, on the City of Las Vegas, in the break room at 2300 hours.

"Warrick, what did Michael Redding turn over?" Grissom inquired while filling a paper plate with food.

"Dr. Leland's wallet and a credit card holder with ID for Vanessa Thomas. We printed everything and got a match to the suspect. Ronnie is working on the stuff from her; he's sure it's forged but it's high quality so it'll take him some time. Brass had Michael look at the photos Archie enlarged of the suspect putting the bags in the car. He IDed the bags as the ones he found behind the Dumpster and that he saw her carry them from the vicinity of the Stargazer Motel to the Dumpster."

"I take it he couldn't identify that she came from a specific room or floor of the Stargazer?" Grissom asked, when Warrick shook his head in the negative, he moved on. "Greg?"

"Um, basically the compounds in the beer match the comparison spectra. Doc Robbins looked over those and the Leland Tox results with me. I really need to do a lot more reading about brain chemistry 'cause he lost me pretty quick." Greg couldn't resist punctuating his report with a couple of shoulder hitches imitating a nervous tic. Even Grissom couldn't keep a completely straight face; Greg aimed a sly, shy smile at Catherine. "Anyway, I've attached a copy of my report to the case file."

"Good. Catherine?"

"Archie and I went through the front desk videos. As you know, we never got a really clear shot of her face in the parking lot footage. We narrowed it down to two women; problem is, one is a redhead and the other a blonde. I'm not sure either one of them is her. She might have an accomplice."

"She could have dyed her hair." Greg interjected.

"Her hair was past her shoulders. We're looking at an approximate six-month cycle. It takes longer than that to grow shoulder length hair. I mean, if she dyed her hair each time she killed a guy, she'd have really short hair or it would be evident that it had been dyed."

"Not if, she used the right kind of temporary dye, and Clairol makes a great product called Uncolor that will take it right out." Greg parried. "Of course, using it too often will damage your hair…." He trailed off; realizing every eye in the room was focused on him.

"We'll take your word for it." Grissom spoke to break the silence. "Cath, please continue."

"Next, the car is a rental from Cody Rent-A-Car in Phoenix. I called them and they're holding it. It was returned Wednesday afternoon and it's already been cleaned so we probably won't get much there. However, Vanessa Thomas from Provo, Utah was the last renter, for a week, and she drove it quite a ways. They use AER-IQ on their rentals to catch people taking a car cross-country. He can retrieve her whole trip for us from the GPS data base; but, he inferred it would take a warrant to get it."

"Umm, it's tough to get out of state warrants on Saturday."

"People frequently get very cooperative when an FBI badge is flashed. I have a favor owed me that, I think, could grease the wheels a little. I'll take care of the warrant." Rob volunteered.

"I'm a firm believer in making good use of all one's resources. Warrick, you're free, I'd like for you to accompany Chloe and Rob to Phoenix."

"Okay." Warrick hesitantly replied. It was a request, not an order, and Chloe was the most gorgeous FBI agent he'd ever laid eyes on…..but, he was supposed to referee some basketball games for the local youth organization.

"Catherine, let's match the blonde and the redhead to the guest registration, just so we leave no stone unturned. And, I'd like to search those rooms at the Magness." Grissom picked up a jar and unscrewed the lid. "Dessert, anyone?" He offered before popping a piece of chocolate in his mouth. Forewarned by the groans accompanying his offer, Chloe and Rob cautiously studied the jar while Catherine carefully chose one.

"Is that a, ah, a grasshopper?" Chloe asked, studying the morsel Catherine held.

"Yeah, they're good. Try one, please?" Grissom coaxed.

"Are they….good?" Chloe arched an incredulous eyebrow at Catherine.

"The chocolate is excellent. It covers up, anything else….and, it makes him happy. Try imagining the crunchy part as a Butterfinger, only it doesn't stick to your teeth." Catherine whispered. Collecting her courage, Chloe selected a small one with a seemingly exorbitant amount of chocolate. Rob passed; he had no interest in attempting to impress Gil Grissom, especially if it meant ingesting chocolate covered insects!

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 14

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

Spoilers: Warrick 'coached' Greg on responding to a crime scene in Early Rollout.

Greg Sanders stared at the scuff on toe of his Skechers; the color had been dubbed Dark Brown Crazyhorse, probably by some over-eager marketing flunky. Realizing he needed some really comfortable dress-casual shoes to wear in the field, he'd bought them a few days ago. Warrick once ripped into him for showing up at crime scene in a wrinkled T-shirt and sneakers. Ever since, the flamboyant shirts and tight jeans remained in the closet in favor of more somber tones and dress pants in an effort to present a more professional demeanor.

Movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention; Gil Grissom had completed his inspection of the huge ornate silk flower arrangement in the center of the lobby. He'd moved on to study the muted pastel shades of desert landscape prints adorning the far wall. Exactly why, Grissom was so enamored of the lobby décor, Greg couldn't fathom. He supposed it was just something to do while Catherine 'handled' the Magness Night Manager, John Taylor. Greg refocused on the exchange in progress at the front desk.

"Mr. Taylor, we'd like to see those two rooms." Catherine Willows requested.

"But, we have a guest in room 316. You can't possibly ask me to move him, at this hour."

"Mr. Taylor, we're trying to solve a murder…."

"Besides, that room has been occupied by a different party every night since this happened."

"All the same, we may recover evidence."

"You see that Harley parked by the door?"

"Yes, it's a very nice Heritage Softail."

"Well, it belongs to the 'gentleman' in room 316. He didn't ask if he could park it there. He just did. Then, he swaggered in here and told me to 'keep an eye on my hog'." Taylor dropped his voice in gruff imitation of the biker. "He's huge! And, I do believe he'll hold me personally responsible if something happens to it. I am not about to ask him to move!"

"Perhaps, it's not necessary for us to search room 316." Grissom pleasantly interjected before Catherine abandoned affable coercion, lost patience and threatened with Detective Brass and a search warrant. He was standing in front of a print, in which the sun arose (or possibly set?) behind a Saguaro cactus with a bleached cow skull quaintly nestled at its base. "Which room has windows facing…..East?"

"That would be 511."

"May we view room 511."

"Sure, ah, let me find the master key card and I'll take you up."

"East?" Catherine quirked an eyebrow at Grissom.

"The Stargazer Motel is east of here."

"Well, let's get to work." Grissom instructed once they stood inside to door of room 511.

"Hey, you said you just wanted to look!"

"Mostly, we will look…and we'll collect a few samples, some fingerprints-nothing particularly destructive." Grissom replied, then suggested. "Your time, might be better spent maintaining a vigilant eye on that chrome festooned conveyance parked out front." He took Taylor gently by the elbow, politely propelling him toward the door. He left the Magness Night Manager in the hall, mouth agape, and pulled the door firmly shut.

"Greg?"

"Yes, sir."

"More fingerprint practice." Grissom pointed out the dresser then the nightstand.

When Grissom produced a pipe wrench and sample bottles from his kit then gestured 'Ladies first' toward the bathroom, Catherine commented. "Nothing particularly destructive, hmm? Did you sorta forget the part about potentially leaky pipes, in the near future?"

"I suspect Mr. Taylor has quite enough trauma on his plate for one night. Besides, I have Teflon tape." Grissom spun the roll of sealant around his forefinger before pocketing it then smirked. "They'll never know I molested their pipes."

"Way to go Grissom. Now, I'll be thinking filthy thoughts the rest of the night." She muttered.

"I like it, when you think dirty." He whispered, lips brushing her ear.

"I know, sooo I take it we're gonna test for hair dye?"

"I expect Greg to take that particular task upon himself. After all, it was his idea."

"You are such a Guru."

"I try."

Later, back at the lab….

"Hey, Boss."

"Yes, Greg?" Grissom looked up from the reports he was rummaging through.

"The follicular tag on the hair strand you recovered from Frank Leland's car is a match to the Mantis profile."

"I believe, we all expected that." Grissom replied and continued his search. He sensed Greg hadn't finished so glancing up, he added. "And?"

"I, um, followed my hair dye hunch, and did some work on it."

"And you found something probative?"

"Yes, there was hair dye in the water from the sink drain trap, a nice shade of brown entitled Almond Rocca. And, there was Clairol Uncolor in the shower drain. I went back to the strand of hair from the car. It was dyed. Care to venture a guess as to the original color?"

"Greg, I never guess." He located the file, skirted his desk and stood in front of Greg.

"Aw, come on."

"Blonde."

"How did you know?"

"I didn't."

"How was that not a guess?"

"I chose. Guessing implies randomness; I didn't know the answer so I chose according to a personal predisposition. I like blondes." Grissom left Greg standing in the hall with a perplexed frown caste over his features. He allowed a little smile to twitch at the corner of his mouth.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 15

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

"Hellooo, Warrick." Gil Grissom cheerfully answered his cell phone. Expecting the familiar, curt 'Grissom', Warrick Brown was stunned speechless for a second. This could not be his stoic boss answering in a style reminiscent of the Big Bopper and 'Chantilly Lace'. Warrick assumed Grissom spent every waking hour at the crime lab, but screams and giggles in the background implied Grissom was most certainly, not, at the lab.

"Grissom?" Warrick tentatively asked.

"Yes, how's Phoenix?"

"Okay, that sounds more like Grissom." Warrick thought, regaining some semblance of professionalism, he launched into a report. "Rob had a search warrant waiting, we checked out the car and got a map of our suspect's trip. I got a positive for blood from the trunk, which I'll bring back for comparison to Frank Leland. She went to LA. Rob caught a plane out there to see what he can dig up. Before she left Phoenix, she went to a long-term airport parking area; Chloe and I are on our way to follow up on that. After LA, she drove to Vegas, straight to The Magness. The car didn't move again until Wednesday morning; direct trip back to Phoenix. Given the time frame, she barely broke the speed limit. I don't think she's worried about getting caught."

"Well, you are looking for a blonde. Turns out Greg was right, she dyed her hair then took it out using the product he mentioned."

"Really?"

"She registered at the Magness under the name of Connie Henson from Denver and she used a valid credit card. We searched the room and found hair dye in the sink drain and Clairol Uncolor in the tub drain. Brass has a contact in the Denver PD so he's following that lead."

"Uh, Gris. Where are you?" Warrick asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Mandalay Bay Beach, it's Lindsey's birthday party. I'm helping Catherine keep an eye on her and her friends. They're all in the wave pool."

"Oh, Man! I totally forgot it's Linds's birthday."

"We're having a very nice…." Grissom trailed off.

"Gris? What's going on?" Warrick inquired after a pregnant pause.

"Uh, nothing. I just spotted Catherine on her way back from the wave pool."

"Well, have fun." Warrick laughed, breaking the connection.

"What?" Chloe asked as Warrick continued to chuckle.

"Grissom just locked up. That doesn't happen very often. Man, I don't care who the guy is or how much self-control he has. Catherine in a wet bikini…and, BAM! Sensory overload. Oh, hey, here's the parking area, make a left."

"Surveillance camera, up to the right. Looks like it gets a pretty clean shot of the driver." Warrick commented as Chloe stopped to pick up a parking ticket. They made a slow pass through the parking lot then returned to the exit.

"Pull over and park here. I'll go ask one of the attendants who we can contact to view the surveillance video." Chloe watched Warrick jog over to the nearest booth containing a person. 'God, he is built!' She thought as she admired the view. After a short conversation, he jogged back.

"We turn left out of the exit, the next building we come to houses the watchmen. They monitor the security feed from there. She told me they keep tapes indefinitely; insurance against false car theft claims."

A few minutes later, they introduced themselves to Charlie Powell, Shift Security Manager for Sky Long Term Parking. Charlie, a tall lanky man, in his late twenties or early thirties, had decided to combat premature baldness by shaving the remaining fringe of sparse blonde hair from his head.

"How can I help you?" Charlie inquired after studying their respective badges.

"We'd like to view the tapes of the entrance and exit surveillance cameras. This is in conjunction with a murder investigation."

"Okay, we gotta a lot of tapes, you have any idea when you want to look?" Charlie asked, once they were settled in chairs in front of a bank of monitors.

"Ah, yes. Our suspect picked up a rental on the fifteenth around one PM, a maroon Buick LeSabre. I have the license plate number here, somewhere." Chloe searched through her briefcase. "Here we go. According to the GPS tracking data, she came here then left for L.A. I think it would be easiest to find the rental car on the entrance surveillance tapes, try to get a clear shot of the driver then backtrack to the vehicle she left parked here."

"Alrighty, then." Charlie enthused. He was already mentally comprising the tale he would spin for his wife when he returned home this evening. He quickly thumbed through a logbook, located the ID number for the tape and retrieved it. After loading the tape, he fast forwarded for a while then began stopping periodically to check the time stamp. One PM rolled up so he played the tape at normal speed until the car came into view. He paused the tape on a frame with the clearest view of the driver. All three peered at the driver, memorizing her features and dress.

"Okay, let's go backward and look for her." Chloe instructed.

"Ya know, it might be a little easier to check the parking lot footage and see what vehicle she went to, assuming that's the one she drove in." Charlie offered.

"That is an excellent idea, Charlie!"

"Well, I watch all kinds of crime solving shows on TV." Charlie demurred. He consulted the logbook again, retrieved the appropriate tape and they watched as the Buick made it's way through the lot until it came to a stop. They watched as the woman opened the hatch of a dark colored SUV then transferred bags to the waiting sedan.

"SUV, I think it's a Pathfinder." Warrick mumbled.

"Good job, Charlie. Now, we need to find that SUV." Charlie beamed at her praise then began a backward search through the entrance tape.

"I think that's her!" He exclaimed, pausing the frame on a dark blue Nissan Pathfinder.

"Wyoming plates." Warrick recognized the bucking bronc with cowboy ensconced in the saddle. "Archie can clean this up enough to get the plate numbers."

"So, there she is." Chloe murmured.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 16

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

Catherine Willows paused in the doorway. Gil Grissom, comfortably ensconced in his chair, was on the phone. He looked up, smiled and gestured for her to take the chair opposite his desk as he continued the conversation. After a few 'umm hmms' and a 'thanks for the update', he hung up and looked at her expectantly.

"What was that about?"

"Chloe. She and Rob are on their way to Sheridan, Wyoming."

"Wow! How'd they get to there?"

"Airplane and now a rental car."

"Cute, bugman." She wrinkled her nose and returned his smirk.

"Well, Warrick has taken on God status with a certain FBI agent." He baited her further having received the response he desired to his teasing.

"Really? Umm, interesting, I like it when Warrick makes a good impression with an attractive, intelligent female. He needs to find a good woman."

"I thought, he was dating a Flight Attendant? What was her name? Jody, Josie?"

"Joanie. That ended a while ago."

"What happened?"

"She had entirely too much time and he didn't have enough."

"Ah, well, at least, he got a trip to the Grand Caymens out of it."

"Yeah. Sooo…what'd he do?"

"Apparently, he worked the video from the airport parking area at a copy center in Phoenix rather than bring it back here for Archie. Then, she called somebody, who called somebody, who got somebody with the Wyoming DMV to go in on a Sunday and run the plates of the SUV. In the meantime, she met up with Rob in Denver. A neighbor at 'Connie Henson's' apartment complex recognized her from the photo and confirmed that she drives a dark blue Nissan Pathfinder with Wyoming plates."

"That still doesn't tell me why they're going to Wyoming. Why not wait in Denver?"

"The neighbor said 'Connie Henson' is only there about one weekend a month."

"So, they're thinking…..what? An alternate life? Maybe split personality?"

"Well, whichever, it's smart. While the authorities are chasing 'Connie Henson', she has a buffer and time to get away. But, I wonder, what could she have in place to warn her?"

"Not to mention the money involved here, multiple IDs and residents. She's throwing around some serious bucks. And, why drive to Phoenix from Wyoming to rent a car and drive to LA. Why not, just fly?"

"It is elaborate." He agreed. "Then again, she's been successful."

"Until now."

"They haven't caught her yet. Maybe she drove because she knew she'd have evidence to dispose of and she does that someplace safe, possibly at home in Wyoming. In all honesty, if Frank Leland hadn't had his UNLV ID in his front pocket, she probably would have gotten away with this one."

"You'd think, she would have checked all his pockets."

"She got sloppy, which, in the end, is what gets them all."

"Well, unless she has some 'trophies' which link her to the other cases, I expect they'll want to prosecute here."

"Which means, we need to get all our ducks in a row."

"I'll get the evidence out and we can go back over it." She noted the slight smirk and the wicked little gleam in his eyes. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"I just….love it, when I'm up to my elbows, in evidence, with you."

"Riiiight! I can think of other things we could be, up to our elbows in, that might be more fun!"

"I suspect that, if I put my mind to it, I probably could too."

"How about we compare notes, later?" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"Well, it is Sunday night and it appears it's gonna be a slow one. Maybe, we can cut out early."

"Now, that, sounds….promising!"

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 17

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

Rob Barton and Chloe DeCaen arrived in the quaint little town of Sheridan, WY, population approximately 16,000, late Sunday evening. Nestled in the foothills of the Big Horn Mountains, the town was steeped in western history. Buffalo Bill Cody hired his Wild West Show performers from the front porch of The Sheridan Inn, built in 1893. They checked into the historic Mill Inn slightly before midnight. Placards and posters delineated the history of the former flourmill. The actual mill building was remodeled into a 45-unit motel and the tower was converted into office spaces, sometime after ConAgra (formerly Nebraska Consolidated Mill Company) sold the facility in 1974.

After breakfast at the Perkins Family Restaurant, they located the Sheriff's Office. "Hi. I'm Rob Barton and this is Chloe DeCaen….."

"Just, hold on there a sec." County Sheriff Jack Dawson held up a finger to bring any further interruption to a halt. He was employing the 'hunt-n-peck' typing technique, to finish a report. With lips pursed in a tight line under a drooping white mustache, he scrutinized the monitor in front of him, glancing down occasionally to select a few letters or maneuver the cursor to a new location on the report. "Okay, if I can just get this thing printed and saved; we're off to the rodeo." He muttered aloud. The whir of a nearby printer heralded his success. He sat back in his creaky wooden chair to appraise his visitors with bright blue eyes.

"You know, 9 outa 10 vehicles, out there." Dawson laconically gestured to the cars and trucks lining the street. "Are unlocked with the keys in the ignition, and not a soul around here would make off with one of'em. But, you damned well better lock your bicycle up! That makes the fourth Mountain Bike stolen in three months. What can I do for you folks?"

"Rob Barton and Chloe DeCaen, FBI."

"Seems a might serious." Sheriff Dawson drawled after inspecting their IDs.

"We believe you have a serial killer living in your community. Rachel Jennings, aka Connie Henson and Vanessa Thomas, is listed as living at 1450 Grayleigh Lane."

"You don't say." His right eyebrow rose, climbing toward his snowy white hairline. "And, a woman, to boot."

"That's correct."

"Hmmm, that place is out toward Beckton off Highway 331. Oscar Grayleigh owns a pretty good spread out there, hence Grayleigh Lane. He hit some hard times, a few years back, and sold off some 'Ranchettes', on Big Goose Creek."

"Ranchettes?" Chloe asked.

"Yeah, mostly folks from 'the big city', buy'em 'cause they want a place in the country to retire to or to have as a vacation home. They'll snap up a place that's, oh, around five or six acres, 'specially if it has any kind of view of the mountains. Lots of folks from California and Texas, 'course they usually high-tail it after a few winters."

"We have a warrant for her arrest issued by a Federal judge in Denver."

"Well then, I'll get my hat and we'll go pay her a visit."

"If he comes back with spurs on, I'm gonna shit!" Rob whispered.

"Shhhh! He'll hear you."

"Hey, I'm not the one who looks like an extra from a John Wayne movie. You know, he kinda looks like Sam Elliot."

"Maybe, he has a nice, big Bowie knife I can borrow. Now, shut UP!" She hissed.

They arrived at Rachel Jennings' property at 8:30 AM. The two-story house was built into the top of a hill with only the top floor exposed to the frigid winter winds. There was no answer at the front door and the place had a generally deserted feel to it. They peeked in the garage; one side was empty. The other housed a miniature caterpillar, presumably for plowing snow from the gravel drive in winter and a four-wheeler. Chloe and Rob wandered around back while Sheriff Dawson went back to his car to call Oscar Grayleigh.

A deck with a magnificent view of the mountains ran the entire length of the leeward side of the house; half of it had been enclosed as a sunroom. Chloe peaked in a window beside the door. The interior was designed to resemble a rustic log cabin. Garden stones in the shape of bear paw prints formed a path across the dark green all-weather carpet to a set of French doors. The room was cosy with its little pot-bellied gas stove nestled in the far corner, an inviting place to spend a lazy afternoon reading during the long winters.

"The door down here is unlocked." Rob shouted up.

"This one is, too." Chloe replied after trying the knob. She unholstered her service revolver and cautiously entered. After searching the upstairs, she had just re-entered the kitchen to begin a more meticulous search when Rob came bounding up the stairs from the lower level.

"You'll never believe it! There's a full lab set up downstairs."

"A lab?"

"Yeah, looks like, maybe, she was paying her bills by synthesizing drugs."

"You're kidding!" She rushed down the stairs to see for herself. The lab was a lot more than she expected. It was well lit, well organized, and very well equipped including two fume hoods, an IR spectrometer and a Gas Chromatograph. It wasn't hard to identify the fundamental items of the drug lab. The pièce de résistance was the distillation apparatus set up in the first fume hood; the three necked flask, nestled in a heating mantel, had to be at least two liters. A Rotary Evaporator was set up in the second hood and Chloe spotted a filter flask by the sink. A large Buchner funnel was stuck between two pegs on the drying rack.

"Well, when she wasn't cooking up other stuff, she apparently did a little home brewing. There must be twenty cases of beer over here! I guess that explains the microbrews at the scenes."

"Something doesn't feel right." Chloe stated, ignoring Rob's exuberant outburst of the beer find. As she studied the slight disorder in the lab, she realized Mantis had obviously, hurriedly prepared another batch of drugs and fled. "I think our chicken, has flown the proverbial coop."

"What?"

"She realized she messed up. She made more drugs, probably for traveling money. All we can do now is search the place and hope to figure out who her contacts were." She bitterly replied with a heavy sigh. Rob left to inform the Sheriff.

Chloe wandered to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf near the door. It housed a number of chemistry and biochemistry textbooks, the standard reference texts and a number of laboratory notebooks. She noted that six of the nineteen volumes, according to the numbers on the spines carefully scripted in pale pink paint pen, were missing. Looking around, she found volume twenty lying on the nearby lab bench. 'Gotta start somewhere.' She thought with another sigh.

She sat down at the desk in the outer room, which she decided was a combination library and office. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls with all sorts of books; alphabetically arranged by subject, author and title. She turned on the banker's lamp and immediately found three of the missing lab books. She was flipping through a pile of empty file folders, labels indicating coded business transactions, when she happened upon an unlabeled laboratory notebook. After reading a portion of the first page, she realized she had stumbled upon the most recent volume of Mantis' personal journal. She hurriedly turned to the last entry.

"Oh, Fuck!" She whispered aloud.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 18

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

Catherine Willows was spreading peanut butter on Ritz crackers, making neat little round sandwiches, which she immediately wolfed down. Her cell phone rang so she quickly chewed, swallowed and gulped some milk before bringing it to her ear. "Willows." She mumbled; her tongue busily searching out the last bits of peanut butter clinging to her teeth.

"Catherine? It's Chloe."

"What's up?"

"I think Grissom is in danger."

"Why?"

"I've been reading her journal, and, ah….well, she recognized you guys at the crime scene."

"What? You mean, when we were processing Frank Leland?"

"Yeah. She realized she'd messed up because the wallet and the credit card holder were missing. She wrote that she's going after the two who got away and one of them is, apparently, Grissom. How come neither of you mentioned he'd possibly met Mantis?"

"Fuck! I knew it was her. I did bring it up to Gil but he thought I was being a bit melodramatic so it kinda got dropped."

"The best I can tell, she left here late Saturday or early Sunday so she could be in Vegas by now. Rob is trying to locate Terry Franklin but I think Grissom is the closer, easier target. Just find him, okay? He's not answering his cell and please call me back."

"All right, I'll find him." Catherine replied determinedly with more calm than she felt. She called his cell and home phone while she located her shoes and keys. She paused for a second, staring at her service piece, before resolutely picking it, hoping she wouldn't have to use it again. She called his pager on the way to her car, then frantically hit the speed dial for Jim Brass.

"Brass."

"Jim, it's Catherine. Look, I can't explain, right now. But, Chloe DeCaen just called me and she thinks Gil is in danger. Meet me at his townhouse, please?"

"I'm on my way."

"Please? God, just let him be at work." 'Work!' She thought as she jammed the key in the ignition. Hitting the speed dial to his office, she threw the car in reverse and careened into the street. After another 'no answer', she ran a stop sign and floored it at an approaching yellow light. In frustration, she dialed the DNA lab, thinking she'd send a lab tech in search of him. Again, no one answered. Jim Brass was pacing outside Gil's townhouse when she pulled up.

"He's not answering the door but his car is gone. What's going on?" Catherine didn't bother with an answer as she searched her keys for the one to his front door. They quickly searched his quiet home to find nothing amiss. Catherine stood in the middle of his living room trying to determine a clue to his whereabouts. The hall closet door was ajar so she rushed to it, flinging the door open.

"Catherine?"

"His golf clubs are missing."

"You think he's golfing?"

"Uh, more likely, at a driving range. The city golf tournament is coming up and he's supposed to play a four-man scramble with Atwater and the Mayor."

"I wonder if Ecklie is the fourth."

"Who gives a shit about Ecklie?" She was busily searching the yellow pages for the closest driving range.

"I hear, he's a good golfer."

"That's probably because he has plenty of time. He sure doesn't spend much of it solving crimes." She complained then ripped the page listing driving ranges from the phone book. Holding it out to Brass and pointing, she said. "Here. I think he might be here."

"Okay, one more time, what is going on?" Brass asked as he nosed his Taurus into the street.

"Chloe called. She and Rob are in Wyoming. They found 'whatever her name is'…..Mantis' house. Chloe found her journal and she referred to Gil as 'one of the two who got away.'"

"What?"

"Jim! Watch the road!" Catherine exclaimed as the Taurus drifted into the lane of oncoming traffic. "A couple of months ago, Gil and I met up at the Grill'em sports bar after work one morning. I remember a brunette was seated on the barstool next to him. It was nine in the morning! Anyway, we played pool then went to his house for breakfast. I really can't believe this!"

"So, did she, ah, drug him?" Brass inquired a couple of minutes later.

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Did…..anything happen?"

"That, has nothing to do with this!"

"Okay, don't get pissed at me." He stifled a chuckle and surmised from her response that something did happen. He just had to know so he gave her a minute to calm down then inquired. "Was it as good as that other guy said?"

"Jim!"

"Come on, Catherine. I won't tell anybody."

"If you do, you'll die a slow, painful death." She threatened then sighed. "It was great but, ah, since it's been pretty damn good ever since, I can't say the drugs really enhanced it all that much."

"Wait a minute! I thought the drugs were for the guy."

"Well, um, I drank about half the beer that, I think, she spiked."

"Really?"

"Are we done with this conversation, yet?"

"Yeah, 'cause there's the driving range."

"There's his car." Catherine exclaimed. "Uh, oh! She drives a Pathfinder, like that one." She pointed out a dusty, dark blue Nissan with Wyoming plates.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 19

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff.

"He's flirting with her! I'm gonna kill him!" Catherine exclaimed as she peered through the branches of a hedge.

"Catherine, We're here to rescue him." Brass reminded from his hiding place, behind a column, to her left.

"As soon as he's safe, I'm gonna kill him!"

"You know, I'd have thought you wouldn't mind a little harmless flirtation."

"Harmless! She IS a serial killer! He IS flirting with a serial killer!"

"Keep your voice down. I'm gonna call for backup."

"He has seen her picture, for Christ's sake." She muttered, punching the speed dial on her cell for the third time since they arrived. "Gil, stop flirting and pick up your damn phone!" She could see it, vibrating away, attached to his golf bag.

"Vega is on his way with a couple of undercover guys and we'll have some uniforms in the parking lot."

"He never pays attention, unless it's some damned bug!" She watched closely, when it appeared Gil was going to exchange clubs she hit the speed dial again.

"Grissom."

"Don't say my name. Listen to me carefully, you're in serious danger."

"Yes, I realize that."

"You recognized her?"

"Ah, yes." He replied then pleasantly addressed the woman standing nearby. "Excuse me, for a moment." He waggled the phone at his ear and smiled his most charming smile. "Business. I'll be right back." He walked several feet away then spoke softly into the phone. "My Dear, you have no idea how happy I am to hear from you. Where are you?"

"Look to your left." Gazing at the ground, he shifted his golf club to the left as though he'd found something of interest hidden in the grass. Turning his body to further investigate his imaginary discovery, he glanced up to see Catherine and Brass hidden behind a column.

"And, you brought the Calvary. How considerate. Have I told you how much I love you?"

"A couple of hours ago, and I return the sentiment; but, you better tell me again when this is all over."

"Umm, there are a lot of people here. I'm not sure how she'll react or if she's armed. I don't suppose, we have a plan?"

"I'm gonna put Jim on."

"Gris?"

"Jim, glad you could make it. I was having a helluva time trying to figure out what to do."

"Vega is on his way. I have the staff arranging to distribute complimentary beverages to the players. Two guys, undercover cops, will come out with trays and they are going to get the people closest to you away with excuses. Then, they'll warn the other people and have as many as we can trickle away. You need to keep her distracted. Hopefully, we'll take her down without a fight."

"I'll do my best."

The minutes crawled by to a half-hour elapsed before the two undercover cops exited the shop, carrying trays of refreshments. Catherine was glad four of the players had packed up and left, finished for the day. The management had allowed no new customers on the range. However, watching Gil flirt was growing more irksome by the minute.

"Okay, we got Peters and Landrum. They're good guys."

"He's hugging her! I'm gonna kill him!" Catherine blurted in shock when Gil slid his arms around the woman, placing his hands over hers on the driver shaft.

"Calm down, he's adjusting her grip. And, if you notice, he has her back to the undercover guys. He's doing a good job of keeping her distracted."

Landrum approached the couple, smiling and offering a drink while surreptitiously slipping his hand under his shirttail to draw his weapon. In that moment, Mantis sensed something. She viciously elbowed Grissom in the solar plexus then brutally swung the driver into Landrum's right knee with a sickening crunch. Both men went to the ground in agony. Diving for her golf bag, she retrieved a handgun, which she immediately thrust into Grissom's face.

"Give it up, Lady! You got no where to go!" Peters threatened, covering her with his weapon. Vega hurried the remaining golfers out of the line of fire while Brass and Catherine rushed in with their weapons drawn.

"Shut up! Asshole! I've been on borrowed time for years!" Eyes glaring with hatred, she grabbed a handful of Grissom's hair to pull him toward her but he began coughing and gagging harder.

"Please? …..Just give me…..a minute, I can't breathe!" He hoarsely whispered, desperately drawing in a ragged breath. Rage dissipating, she relaxed her grip on his hair.

"Gil?" Catherine called.

"You, Bitch!" Mantis screeched, bringing her gun around to aim at Catherine. Brass shoved Catherine to the ground while Peters fired two rounds. One hit Mantis in the chest, the other her right shoulder. Time froze for a moment as they watched Mantis stare at the gun, slipping from her grasp. When her body refused to bend to her will; her eyes found Grissom's and pleaded sorrowfully. He caught her as she slumped over, laying her down carefully.

"I loved him." She rasped.

"I know." He whispered as the wet gurgles and wheezes of her attempts to breathe ceased.

"You alright?" Brass grabbed his shoulder.

"Yes. She's gone." He replied and placed his hand on her forehead. For a moment, he gazed at her sightless pale blue eyes before swiping his hand across her lids to close them forever_. "How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it.__"_ Catherine touched his arm as he stood. He slipped his arms around her waist, enfolding her in a gentle hug, resting his cheek against her forehead.

"Shakespeare?" Brass inquired.

"Marcus Aurelius."

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

Title: Preying Mantis – Chapter 20

Author: Nuclearjane

Author's Note: See previous chapter for disclaimers and stuff. William Congreve penned 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' in 'The Mourning Bride' in 1697. The lyrics to 'That's Amore' most certainly do not belong to me. Since my Beta (She's not quite the Grissom fan that I am.) didn't get the word change in the last lyric of substituting Tarantula for Tarantella (an Italian dance), I thought I should point that out.

Spoilers: Quoted Catherine from The Strip Strangler.

"What a waste of a brilliant mind." Grissom said as he finished reading Chloe DeCaen's report.

"So, what set her off?" Catherine asked. She was at her kitchen counter, kneading dough for homemade biscuits.

"Unrequited love." Grissom smiled when he glanced up, she had flour on her nose.

"A little more explanation, please?" Exasperatedly, she wiped her hair back from her forehead with the back of her hand, yet still managed to smear flour on her temple.

"Well, the condensed version, she was……a prodigy. She came from a poor background in New Jersey, but graduated with a PhD in Biochemistry from Princeton. She took a post-doctorate position at Yale." He paused, studying the report. "According to her journals, She met and fell in love with a married colleague. He made her all the promises married men do so she helped him with his research in what we now refer to as date rape drugs, which garnered him a position at Harvard. About a year later, She obtained a position at MIT, thinking they would finally be together. In the meantime, he discovered his wife's social connections were now more important to his career than her research abilities. At a party, jointly sponsored by both universities, he rather cruelly ditched her and broke her heart. She coped for a while, started working out, took an interest in fashion – anything she thought would please him. Sometime later, He spurned her again. She began stalking him but he was killed in a car accident. About a year later, she attended a conference in New York. She met a guy who reminded her of him. They went to his apartment, had sex then he said something that was the final straw. She went to the kitchen, got a butcher knife, and stabbed him to death in his own bed."

"They didn't link her to him."

"No. She killed again, realized what she was and designed a life to accommodate it."

"How did she end up in Wyoming?"

"As an undergraduate, she joined a trip to the Bighorn Mountains on a research project and became enamored with the place. Anyway, She made a connection with a drug syndicate in LA. She convinced them to fund and supply her lab in an out of the way place then told the locals that she was a grieving widow with a sizeable insurance annuity. Later on, she claimed to be a consultant developing beer recipes for a major beer supplier to combat the growing microbrewery market. That allowed her to explain her lab and frequent absences. She supplied some of the locals with samples as a, ah, 'test market'. Still, the most amazing thing is, she continued her research the whole time. There were notes referring to reports supplied by various Dealers concerning the apparent effects of some of her prototypes."

"She used unsuspecting junkies as test subjects?"

"Apparently so."

"Chloe said she recognized us at the scene of Frank Leland's murder. It gives me chills to know that she was watching us." Grissom glanced up, in surprise, which he quickly covered. He hadn't known Chloe had shared that information. He stood up, moved close and slid his arms around her waist while she washed the sticky dough off her hands in the kitchen sink.

"You have flour on your nose." He gently brushed it away.

"Gil, you're avoiding…."

"Yes, I am. Because, we've been watched before and we will be again. There are things we can't change. But, someone, I like and respect, once said 'Never doubt, never look back' and although, I find, I enjoy a certain amount of introspection, those were very good words." He brushed the flour from her temple and replaced it with a tender kiss.

"She was two years older than me."

"So?"

"Well, there were times when I could've killed Eddie."

"But you didn't."

"That was because I loved you and Lindsey loved him."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

"Don't you have anything to do besides quote stuff?"

"Ummm, as a matter of fact, I could carry you off to bed."

"Wha…..?" He hoisted her over his shoulder and headed out of the kitchen. "Are you reverting into some Viking forebearer?"

"Perhaps."

"Don't you need sustenance………for stamina?"

"I think, I have the strength to manage and we can eat later."

"I'm not sure the biscuits will be any good by the time we get back."

"Then, I'll help you make more. 'Labor omnia vincit – Virgil' which means 'Work conquers all things.'"

"You and work!" She grunted as he carried her up the stairs.

"Suum cuique pulchrum est – Cicero"

"What's that mean?" She asked as he kicked the bedroom door shut.

"To each his own is beautiful." He gently laid her on her bed then lay down beside her. "And, you are very beautiful." He whispered as he stroked her hair. "I love you."

"No latin."

"_When the moon hits you eye like a big pizza pie  
That's amore_

_When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine  
That's amore"_

"Jesus, Gil, don't sing."

"What's wrong with my singing?"

"You can't carry a tune and you're usually off-key." Undeterred, he continued.

_"Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling  
And you'll sing "Vita bella"  
Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay  
Like a gay tarantula"_

"Very funny, bugman!" She rolled on top of him, smothering any further offering of song on his part with a smoldering kiss.

Finis!


End file.
